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Her eyelids soon grow heavy following the meal, confirming the effect of the sleep-induced wine.
“Sleep, Aradia. Take your rest upon the bed. Close your eyes, my love, and surrender to the night, where every dream is a sonnet and only love may wake you with its song…”
Her heart beats quicker as she studies the bed with its translucent canopy—like cosmic stardust-woven threads. Celestial ghost petals scatter the coverlet that is embroidered with delicate patterns of soulmates finding love in my desolaterealm. An unseen breeze, like the breath of spirits, billows the silver draperies like moonbeams around the bed.
Swallowing hard, my little Butterfly approaches and brushes her fingers upon the cloud-silk pillows beckoning her.
Impossible for a mortal to resist the mystical allure, especially given her mind’s heady state.
The room’s warmth prevents her from covering herself with little more than a sheet. For the next few hours, I pace, biding my time—and my cock—while I watch her sleep. Despite my curse, I still possess the magic of love in all its forms, including the ability to project lustful dreams into her subconscious. A simple feat upon a mortal mind.
One corner of my mouth tugs into an amused smirk as I scent her pheromones growing stronger and the haven of her center heating with her sweet juices.
She still smells of a floral offering. Like black orchids and addictive opium. My offering. One I will soon purge from my system.
Advancing to the bed, I cast the room in pitch black. My horns are gone. And my gargoyle wings—replaced with my feathered ones. Warm, strong, and flawless skin of a god vs. gargoyle stone.
I have masked the light of my divinity, darkened it. While she may not see my celestial hair likened to silken stardust, she will feel it and breathe its scent as my fine strands fall upon her fair cheeks.
Not quite ready to rouse her but still desiring a sample, I lower my eyes to those sinful tits and the little nipples that seem to pebble from my gaze. I sweep my thumbs over the hardened buds.
The tension storms through me, tightening all my muscles. Fuck, this is nothing like Psyche. With my wife, I was enamored from the moment I looked at her. So much, that I was a fool tonot notice my arrow pricking me. From then, it was nothing but obsession, sweeping her away to my castle in the clouds on the outskirts of the human realm, where I could still use my magic. An endless feast of romance, pleasure, and desire—of achingly tender seduction, slow, burning with deep and intimate love to last for the ages.
As the God of Love, I pride myself on a slow masterwork of rousing a woman to heated and liquefied state until she begs for her release.
Gods be damned, not this girl. I want to throw down. I want to punish her for this hellish torment. Somehow, she’s invaded this curse, cracked it enough to stir my cock.
I want to shove inside her hard, slam into her, and impale her on my massive arrow. I want to bind her with chains of darkness and cover her skin with the bruises from my fingerprints, the swollenness of my lips, and the marks from my teeth. I want to claim her—ride her hard and put her away soaked. Transform her just to see what rises from that soul. Carve her open. And learn what beats inside her chest
I want to go to war with her in the bed. And drive her to the point of such carnal need that she gets on her knees and presents her pretty ass to me, humping and screaming for me to wreck those pink petals. Unleash that tremulous soul that dares to fucking smile at my dark Chaos. She will tremble beneath me as I fuck her.
Fuck her deep into her soul.
I growl because I can’t. I can’t allow it.
I want to release my monster on her. Because whatever exists in her soul is made of the same stuff. Passion. Pure and utter passion. A woman with a feisty heart and a fierce tongue who knows what she wants. All the things I could show her, reveal to her…
…No, I cannot allow another woman, much less a mortal, get her fucking claws inside my soul.
Just fuck her, sate that gods-damned need between you both, and move the fuck on.
Extending my sample, I lower my hand to her sex as I prefer the more traditional terms for a woman’s heated pleasure chamber. I slowly lift the ends of her gown and toy with those shy nether curls, fine and dainty and a darker pink. I narrow my eyes, curious at the unnatural color. But her scent is driving me mad.
Smirking, I part those ample thighs and open her pretty pink lips with my thumbs, flaring my nostrils to breathe her in. Her folds ripen beneath my exploratory fingers as I admire the wet silken flesh like soaked blushing rose petals. I insert my middle finger, sliding it to the knuckle. She is tight. So tight, I would believe she is untried, unridden, though her tongue and sexual energy express otherwise.
She rises, her spine arching, hips lifting. My smirk grows since her facial muscles are tight with the very portrait of distress and need.
Dark power feeds my tensioned muscles until I’m damn near close to exploding. I’m hungry. Fucking starved. A man lost in an eternal desert, and she is my oasis. But she plays tricks on my mind. Plays with me like a mirage until I’m ready to fell whole trees, rip out her gardens, and plunder all her sweet fruit, spoiling her.
I want to bury my cock so deep into her, she will feel it in that monstrous little soul. Perhaps even more monstrous than mine.
I could easily grant her release. No feat to curve my fingers onto that secret little knot or work that hypersensitive bundle until she screams.
But when she convulses the first time, it will be around my cock.
Until then, I’ll drive her to delirium. I’ve given her romance. I’ve given her beauty. My magic. I’ve given her rest and sleep. Now, I’ll give her my cock.
And I’ll fuck her right out of my blood and never let her so much as kiss my stone heart or brush my cursed soul.
